Unsuspecting Destruction
by NerdoOfTheFiction
Summary: The city is under attack by a foreign mafia and the Vongola boys have to find each other in order to protect each other. POV in Tsuna, Gokudera, Yamamoto, Hibari, and Ryohei. Chpt for each.
1. Tsuna

A sizeable explosion sent echoes through the city, rocking it to its core. The smoke that followed spread immediately in shades of black to white. Groans, both from people and the earth, filled the air with one word: destruction.

A boy no older than seventeen had managed to escape the massive bluster with only four severe burns. His brown hair blowing fiercely as he tore himself from the sidewalk to look for his friends, his guardians. This boy's flame was extinguished; he was far too battered and terrified to use it effectively. Never in his life has he experienced something so chaotic and harsh, never had he experienced fear so great or shock so consuming. He gave up trying to take the offensive long ago and focused on just surviving. He couldn't remember the last time he was with his friends; had it been hours ago or minutes? Seconds? The mafia boss thought hard about every detail leading up to their separation and every detail after.

A raid. From out of no where, planes painted solid black swarmed in the sky like a flock of geese. There must have been more than fifty. Were these mafia planes? Maybe, but no one knew for certain and they had no time to find out. Tsuna was walking with his guardians, unsuspecting. Yamamoto had been the first to notice the strange planes flying so low that they almost scratched the roofs of the buildings. They had stopped and stared, making themselves vulnerable.

"_Tenth, we have to move!"_

Tsuna recalled Gokudera yelling and pulling at his arm. He still didn't know how Gokudera knew that the mysterious shadows encircling the city were enemy planes preparing to bomb them and kill them.

Another explosion, a smaller one, shook the boy from his recollections. Small flying chips of concrete shredded his skin as his blocked his face with his arms. He counted himself lucky each time a bomb went off, because he wasn't directly beneath it. The boy prayed for his friends and dug out his cell phone; destroyed, unsurprisingly. He ran down the street as best he could, tripping on misplaced cement and dodging falling debris. As he ran, his eyes moved frantically from left to right to lock on any clue as to where his friends might be.

"_This is dangerous, to the extreme."_

Tsuna fought to remember his exact location when he was separated from each one of his friends. The smoke was thicker now; it was getting harder to see. The young mafia boss ran past bodies—real bodies, countless bodies—and his eyes filled with tears. Such destruction. These were the good ones, the innocents. What right did he have endangering these common folk?

"_We've got your back; we're all in this together."_

Tsuna could remember the earnestness in the swordsman's brown eyes when he said it. He could remember feeling warmer, safer, with his guardians by his side. But now they weren't together and he felt cold and alone.


	2. Yamamoto

Glass shattered from the most recent bang, covering a young swordsman. He held his arms above his head to limit the damage, sword in hand. He didn't know where he was, or where his friends were. But he knew he had to find them.

This was not a game. That much was clear to him. Naivety—ignorance—was bliss. Now that he was more experienced in the mafia world, he found himself worried more often and scared more still. The world was crumbling before his eyes. If he had chosen not to learn, to stay naïve, would this all have happened? Or would his absence keep the Vongola from existing and the city safe?

The baseball player knew when the last time he saw his friends was. He knew who the last person he saw was. And as he walked carefully down the street, he knew who every corpse that was lying in the street once was.

Gokudera had been the last person he saw. The two had been in the darkness of some alleyway with Tsuna and Ryohei when the first bombs struck the earth. With their backs pressed against the wall, they all felt the building shudder and begin to collapse. That's when they ran.

Dust sprung up and stung their eyes, but still they ran. Uneven cement tripped them and hurt their feet, but still they ran. Their original plan—their only plan—had been to stay together. But in sheer chaos, plans never come together.

A bomb collided with the street. The swordsman remembers being thrown forward, an immense wave of heat threatening to burn his back. He remembers hitting the ground, the instant pain running through his arms and knees. He had managed to cover his head, sustaining the impact primarily with his elbows. He had rolled over in pain and noticed the dust was impenetrable; he couldn't see anyone.

Almost panicking, Yamamoto remembers he stood up quickly and started to walk forward, tripping on debris and falling again.

"_Hello?"_

No one responded, maybe no one heard. He stood up again but didn't move, choosing instead to call out his friends names. No answer. Then someone gripped his arm.

"_Is that you, idiot?"_

Yamamoto had felt so relieved that he found someone, but it was only a matter of time before a bomb sent them all flying again. After that he found no one. He stumbled forward, searching for a clearing. Several times he hit an unseen car or building, but finally, he could see.

Now he was alone.

The Rain guardian walked on, steadier now since the dust was thinner, leaving the center of destruction behind. Never would he retreat; his friends might still be back there. But he knew that if he stayed where he was, he might be killed and no help at all to them. He couldn't see, couldn't be heard, and couldn't even stand up. He realized now that his sword was gripped tightly in one hand; his knuckles were white.

The black-haired boy observed his injuries: slices from where the glass cut his hands, torn clothing all over him dabbed with blood from hitting the concrete so many times, a few burns, and a small hole, bleeding freely, on his thigh from where rock had been flung. He considered himself lucky and hoped his friends shared his good fortune. Of course, it wasn't over.


	3. Gokudera

The smoke cleared from the last bomb drop. The silver haired boy hoisted himself onto his elbows and looked around briefly, heaving a shaky breath. He wondered fearfully how much longer this raid would continue.

He bit his lip. He wasn't supposed to be scared. He was the Storm guardian; as the Tenth's right hand man he was supposed to be invincible.

With that in mind, he rolled over and grabbed onto the handle of the broken door he had just crushed behind his back, pulling himself up. Pain seized him almost immediately and he discovered that the back of his neck and right shoulder were covered in blood.

At first, he was surprised and even alarmed, but he was used to the burns from bombs and his shock cleared. However, no matter how many times he got burned or cut, he never got used to the pain.

But his physical state wasn't his first priority; his first priority was to find the Tenth, turf-head, and the baseball freak.

With a silenced groan, the half-Italian took his first few steps forward. The dust was still clouded and got into his eyes and made it hard to breathe, but he pressed on. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the Tenth. No answer. In fact, not even a ring. The call never connected. But instead of panicking, the Storm knew this was probably because the phone was smashed; it didn't mean the Tenth was…hurt. Resisting the urge to smash his own phone, he dialed the Sun guardian. When Ryhoei didn't pick up after 6 rings, it went to voicemail. The Storm left a stormy message indeed. Finally, he dialed the baseball nut.

Gokudera could remember what happened before they all split, but he chose not to. He should have been smarter, faster, and stronger—but he wasn't. He had let the boss down and out of his sight.

"_Gokudera!"_

The Mafioso closed his eyes tightly as he remembered the Tenth calling his name.

"Gokudera?"

The eager voice coming from his cell phone brought the Storm back to reality. He hadn't expected Yamamoto to answer.

"Where are you, idiot?" Gokudera demanded lamely, surprised at the amount of energy it took to say those few words.

"Meet me at Namimori," His voice was so calm, even in this situation; and the Storm hated the Rain for it. "Are you alright?"

The silver-haired boy promptly hung up on the other.

Coughing once, twice, then three times, he took another step forward only to stumble on a pile of debris and fall to his knees. Cursing the obstacle, he turned around to face it. It wasn't debris.

The seventeen year old had tripped on a human corpse.

Wincing, he stood up and looked at the once-living woman. She was pretty; dark orange hair and a heart shaped head. Her brown eyes held open by a state of shock before her death, eyes that had sparkled in another life.

The guardian reached down and closed the lids, stepping back and walking away quickly.

His sorrow soon gave way to anger, swearing to himself that the bastards who did this would get a taste of _his_ bombs. Very soon.


	4. Ryohei

Without opening his eyes, the teenaged boy dug his fingers into the crumbles of cement around him. He pushed himself up, slowly lifting his lids as he reached a sitting position.

The first thing he did was try to remember what happened. He could. Barely.

He remembered only the sounds; the deafening roar of the bombs as they struck the earth, the scratch of his own body against the pavement, the frantic screams of his friends. Even now he heard the collapsing of fractions of building and the clatter of fallen concrete around him.

Inhaling slowly, he tried to determine the amount of time that had passed between now and the first explosion. He reached sluggishly into his jeans and dug around in his pockets to find them empty. Almost alarmed, he shifted his eyes from left to right to locate his cell phone but found only chunks of rock.

Exhaling in frustration, he allowed himself to look around him. Really look. What he observed tied his stomach into a knot: corpses, wrecked cars, jolted sidewalks, fragments of buildings barely standing. A few hundred yards behind him, people were picking themselves and each other off the ground.

"_Are you alright?"_

"_Turf-head, move!"_

The boxer jumped to his feet, sending pain shooting throughout his body and flashes of light to the corners of his vision. He put his arms out to steady himself and closed his eyes hard. With his ears ringing, he toddled to the next street and peered down. The Sun guardian began to scrutinize each face, searching for any signs of his friends.

His body protested violently and he wondered just how close he was to the actual explosion. He felt something slide down the side of his cheek. Touching it, he observed it was blood from a deep gash on his temple. He winced when his fingers made contact with the flesh wound and drew them away quickly.

Without knowing his destination, Ryohei trudged through his pain and down the street. As he got further away from his origin point, he noticed that there were more people. Streets were not as crowded with ruin and despair. Some people were even running away. For a moment, he envied their ability to run, knowing he was in no shape to follow. He was not even in the shape to walk. But the boxer always pushed himself, and he would not stand to die in the streets.

Familiar brown hair caught his eye and he turned his head. The white singed the sides of his vision as he narrowed in on the face. Sawada Tsuna. It had to be.

"_Big brother!"_

Resisting a smile and letting out a gush of slightly relieved air, the Sun guardian progressed to where his friend was looking about, fifty yards ahead. The latter took a surprisingly long time to recognize his beaten guardian, but Ryohei attributed this to the recent turmoil, not to an injury.

As death surrounded the two Mafia members, covering the city in blood and flames, a persistent boxer fought his relief no more; his illustrious smile spread across his face. He knew at least one of his friends was safe.


	5. Chaos

There was no smiling for the Rain guardian. Not today.

He waited impatiently by the mangled gates of Namimori for his friend. Destruction consumed his entire vision. Everything was broken. Buildings, cars, sidewalks, roads, even people. Perhaps people were the most broken. After all, objects can be destroyed and built again with no evidence of it ever being broken, but people live and relive tragedies every day. There's no telling how great an impact this day had left on the minds of the citizens.

The swordsman dared to hope that his friends were alright. He was thankful to have heard from Gokudera, but the whereabouts of Tsuna and Ryohei remained a mystery to him. He tightened his jaw against the unsettling feeling.

After a few minutes, the baseball player fell to the ground. He didn't have the strength to stand. He examined the gash on his leg where blood continued to flow freely. Carefully, he tried to press his hands against the wound to stop the blood, but after the initial blast of pain he dared not touch it again.

The Storm guardian was not in better shape. As he struggled to find his way to Namimori without the usual landmarks, pain throbbed visibly in his head for he saw flashes of white with every step. Each time he put his hand on the back of his neck, it came back coated with blood.

His stomach clenched each time he thought about the Tenth. He wondered if he was even breathing right now. But of course he was. He was the Tenth boss of the Vongola Family. He _had_ to be alright.

Abruptly, the Storm guardian flew to his knees and doubled over. His eyes widened and he gasped for breath. Thoughts flew around rapidly in his head, making the situation incomprehensible. He tried to locate the pain but his body was on fire. There was no single target, he felt as if he was burning in hell.

An inaudible cry escaped his lips and fell facedown onto the searing black top, eyes clenched in pain. He couldn't see anymore, he couldn't feel anything but the smoldering. He couldn't hear or speak.

He heard the echo of the explosion from the buildings around him.

The ground shook beneath the Rain guardian. He head shot up and he located the new smoke. It was a couple hundred yards from where he was sitting; he prayed no one was hurt. Biting down on his lip, he used the twisted fence to heave himself to his feet. Determined brown eyes made their way to the drop zone, fearing the worst and daring to hope the best.

The Sun guardian felt the heat at his back when the bomb went off, but it did not bring him anymore physical pain. He turned cautiously, his eyes scanned the vicinity. Upon feeling a tug at his shoulder, he turned and locked eyes with his boss. Sawada Tsuna's face betrayed worry and sorrow, undoubtedly blaming the recent events on his self. Urgency flashed in his soft eyes and Ryohei knew they were headed to the explosion.


	6. Confusion

Gokudera Hayato couldn't tell if he was seeing in black or white. Maybe he wasn't seeing at all. Never had he been so closely hit by a bomb of that force.

Was he even awake? He didn't know; maybe he didn't want to know. He was so unsure of his surroundings and so unsure of his own thoughts. He felt he was stuck in the in-between.

Was he laying or standing? Was he breathing or suffocating? Could it be he was dead? He wasn't bad enough for Hell, not good enough for Heaven. That was clearly the case since he was neither engulfed in fire nor eased by the presence of angels.

If, by chance, he was still alive and laying against the street, he couldn't feel it. He moved, or thought he moved, his numb arms back and forth to locate the asphalt but, unsurprisingly felt nothing. Nothing. Before this, the Storm guardian didn't believe in nothing; everything had a scientific proof. Everything. And now his world was distorted and he had never been so lost.

Sasagawa Ryohei was walking side by side with his boss for neither had the stamina to run. He was still glad to be reunited with Tsuna, but felt a void in his chest only to be filled by the presence of his other two friends. He falsely declared the health of the missing guardians in order to soothe Tsuna, but he knew he was wasting words. Neither of them believed it. But in a vain attempt to ease the tension, he continued to talk. He spoke enthusiastically of their obvious ability to survive. For someone who prided himself on strength and stamina, the Sun guardian considered today's continued existence as no small feat.

Sawada Tsunayoshi's heart thumped faster with each step he took closer to the drop zone. He was out of prayers, out of curses. He was so desperate, so scared. He hated the mafia but he loved his guardians. If he lost even one, he would never forgive himself and never move on. The common comparison Yamamoto used to use of the mafia to a game could never be more wrong.

He hoped his friends were also making their way to the site of the new fallen bomb. Maybe they would all meet up and everything would be okay. But it won't. Tsuna knew enough of his poor luck that something as relieving as that wouldn't happen. Not only that, but the damage would still remain. Bringing themselves back together would only solve one of the many problems laid before them. The city, for instance, was a victim of the bomb shower, which was Tsuna's fault in his eyes. Deaths of innocent citizens were his fault. Damage to cars and houses, annihilation of streetlights and signs, trashcans and kiosks were his entire fault. Everything was wrong.

Yamamoto Takeshi was walking briskly for someone with a gash in his leg, but sluggish for anyone else. He was driven purely by fear; he valued his friends more than anything in his life. He called Gokudera four times since the explosion went off but the only answer was silence, not even one ring. Yamamoto wasn't stupid; he knew what silence meant.

As he rounded the final corner, his heart stopped. He was frozen with terror, paralyzed by panic. The pain in his leg vanished from his mind, replaced by the horror of what he saw. Within seconds, he went from staring like a fool to running like a madman. Gokudera was down.


	7. Almost

Tangible fear in the form of obstacles tripped the Rain guardian several times as he dashed to his fallen comrade, regardless of his injuries. Not even when he stopped did the pain rush back to him, nor when he knelt beside the Storm guardian. The peculiarity of this did not strike him for only one thing was on his mind: Gokudera.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was approaching the drop zone, Ryohei jogging close behind him. Although he was initially in too much physical pain to run, his anticipation betrayed his body. He was nearing the edge of the wrecked structure, formerly a 4-star hotel, and his heart was racing more rapidly than ever on his journey over as he peered around the bricks. He was panting heavily, but his breath stopped immediately in his throat. He sensed the Sun guardian cease all movement behind him. Gokudera lying on the ground. Yamamoto kneeling over him.

The young mafia boss could not move. He could not feel his limbs, could not tell if he was breathing again. He fell to his knees in sheer terror.

The boxer beside him reacted more logically. He ran to his friends and assessed the situation. No way was Octopus Head gone. He was stronger to the extreme. He found Yamamoto in shock, but operating nonetheless. It was confirmed that the Storm guardian had a pulse, but also that he needed urgent help. Help that they would not find in a destroyed hospital.

Ryohei's body was numb. Whether from pain or from fear, he was not certain. He bent down and carefully but effectively pulled the Storm guardian onto his back. He had no idea where the hell he was going to take him, but he couldn't bear to look at him lying in the street.

The swordsman followed the movements with timid eyes and his rise was delayed, but when the Sun guardian began to walk back towards Tsuna, he trailed. Of course Sasagawa was reacting; he hadn't been the one to find him.

The bomber was still deadened, but he sensed his world being shaken. He had no idea how he knew, or if he actually knew anything at all, but he considered that his body must have been moved. The panic of the in-between no longer fazed him. The in-between. The fact he had mechanically put "the" in front of it made the impossible world seem even more menacing. Was it a world at all? Where was he? How was he thinking? That he was rationalizing at all was proof to him he was alive, or partially alive. But he could hardly call it rationalizing; there was nothing rational about his situation.

As if he were in a box, he heard thumps like faint thunder. Could this be voices? Or more explosives? His alarm welled up again. Anything would be better than this. If he was in Hell, at least he'd know he was dead. How did he end up in this position? He thought of his friends and hoped they fared better. Perhaps the thundering noises were their voices? But that seemed illogical, too. They couldn't have possibly found him in only minutes when he'd been searching for at least an hour. Was it minutes? It certainly felt like hours to the Mafioso, but he'd read enough books and seen enough movies to know that's how it always seems.

He just wanted to break free from this "world"_. I want to live. _He reiterated on this small truth continuously. At this point, he'd feel lucky if he got out of the in-between with his sanity. But then, he wasn't really known to _be_ sane.


	8. Duties

Yamamoto Takeshi let his feet and eyes carry him forward; his mind remained in a state of utter shock and despair. Even to say that his eyes were seeing would be false, for he did not process where he was going, on what street they were on, if they were even near Namimori anymore.

Gokudera. When he had pressed his hand against the bomber's flesh, it had been warm still, thank Heaven, but his skin was paled from blood loss. In his dysfunctional condition, the swordsman had only noticed five things about his injured friend. A third: a large portion of the Storm's skin was raw from being burned. Four: The back of his neck had been especially cut and burned, leaving it to bleed freely. Finally: His jaw was clenched.

That final observation gave him hope—he wasn't going to die. Not yet anyway. He couldn't die. He was Gokudera. He was supposed to be unstoppable. He was supposed to always pick himself up off of the ground and carry on with life. He was supposed to open his eyes and yell at the Rain guardian for being foolish and worrying. He was supposed to live.

"_Where are you, idiot?"_

But _he_ was the Rain guardian. He was supposed to smile and thoughtlessly shrug his shoulders. He was supposed to pretend this was a game, even though he now scowled at the thought. He was supposed to look on the Brightside. He was supposed to be with Gokudera, watching his back. He was supposed to, should have, met him half way. He was supposed to protect his friends. But he had done none of it.

If _that_ is the Rain guardian, what is he now? Surely not that. Surely he was not himself. He wasn't a protector, a happy-go-lucky baseball player, a rational being, an optimist, or a naïve Mafioso. He was an agonized friend.

_He _was the Sun guardian. He was supposed to meet any challenge. He was supposed to _win_ every challenge. He was supposed to protect his friends. He was supposed to smile and laugh with vigor. He was supposed to do and say the extreme. He was supposed to be the big brother. He did none of that now. He was carrying Gokudera somewhere, but he was confused, to the extreme.

_He _was the Tenth Vongola Boss. He thought back on today's events and blamed himself, again, for every one of them. No-good Tsuna was never supposed to be anything but caring. He was supposed to take care of his guardians, protect his friends. It seems that that is a common duty for every one of them. But they had been separated. They _couldn't _protect each other.

Maybe they planned that. Maybe whoever did this planned that. They must have studied them vigorously and planned that. They must have known Gokudera was a skilled bomber; that he could have foiled whatever intentions they had by reading their tactics. That must have been why they targeted him. They must have targeted him. They wanted something from the Vongola Family. Who were they?


	9. Games

A simple, loose leaf paper. The lines were smeared, just barely, by some form of water. It was folded delicately and placed just so in the middle of the street. It was Sawada Tsunayoshi who found it first.

_Dearest Vongola Family:_

_Boom._

_I hope you enjoyed my little game of battleship. Of course, instead of ships I targeted _you_ and there was absolutely no kind of offensive or defensive tactics coming from your end. _

_This is not a dream, precious Vongola. This is my world. A little party, if you will, of sheer destruction (Or in my perspective, fun). I'm sorry I didn't have time to send out invitations, but I do hope you enjoy yourselves. I will provide the games. All you have to do is play._

_And now, it looks like I win: I took down one of your ships._

_What game should we play next? I have an endless supply._

_Yours truly,_

_Byakuran_

That was it.

Infuriated, the Tenth Vongola boss crumpled it in his fist. The Sun guardian placed the Storm in the hands of the Rain and pried the paper from the boss's grasp. He scanned the words and read them again, aloud, for the dark-haired one. He, too, was infuriated. But he was willing to play Byakuran's game.

"We can win, to the extreme."

Sasagawa Ryohei's voice lacked the volume it characteristically took on, but there was a resolute potency behind his words.

All of the resentment that had welled up in Sawada Tsunayoshi vanished at that sentence and his brows furrowed in something like fear. Could he really gamble with his friends lives? He couldn't agree to this.

He didn't have to agree to this.

He was already playing; his decision had been made for him the moment Byakuran dropped that first explosive.

But he was hesitant. Surely there was a way out of this. Surely, he could negotiate with Byakuran. There must be something that he wanted. There was _always_ something the antagonist wanted.

But this was not a book. This was not a movie. _"This is not a dream." _And it might very well be that what that villain wanted was to see the Vongola family perish. Yes, that was it. Tsuna knew it deep inside that _that_ was indeed what Byakuran wanted. If the Vongola were gone, what would stop him from assuming the role of absolute ruler?

He stole a glance at the Sun guardian's face. It was firm, livid, anxious. Ryohei doesn't back down from any challenge, and certainly, he wouldn't start now.

The Rain guardian proved similar: his face betrayed concerned, irate, and timid feelings. Tsuna knew this situation, however destructive, could not be avoided like he wanted. He should know that by now.

And the Storm guardian. They had to do something for him. What would he say? That this Byakuran bastard would pay for his actions and he would gladly die trying.

For his friends, Tsuna would play.


	10. Hibari

His dear Namimori. Destroyed. Shattered. Ruined.

The gates. Mangled.

The walls. Caved in.

The doors. Annihilated.

The windows. Splintered.

No doubt the classrooms were smashed and the desks upturned and broken.

He dared not venture further for anything but to find evidence of the culprit.

Narrowed, darkened eyes searched the premises for signs of movement and found none. They glistened slightly when turned towards the sun, towards the city. They glistened with anger. They glistened with vengeance. They glistened with curiosity.

The disciplinary leader had escaped the attack unscathed. In fact, he was napping. He awoke only to the second to last explosion, witnessing the very last.

It was raining ashes at Namimori; the small particles mixing in with his black hair and coating his shoulders. He observed the city in ruins through the smoke but thought little of it. The notion came into his mind that Sawada Tsunayoshi and his peculiarly annoying friends had something to do with this. Hating to be in a group, but hating to see the destroyer of the school go unpunished, the Cloud guardian strolled towards the city, tonfa in hands.

Flames caressed the post office, the corporate offices, the supermarkets, the bakeries. Fruit stands were obliterated with the cars. People lay dying, groaning, cursing, and praying. A horrible event. A destructive, horrible event sure to make the textbooks; assuming anyone would be left to write the textbooks. The prefect was well aware a single bomb attack was unheard of. There would be more to come.

Kyoya Hibari cast his gaze ahead, seemingly unfazed by the unexpected destruction. He strode through street after street in search of Sawada. He would not become angry on his account. They had to be somewhere. Hibari knew them well enough (as much as it pained him to admit) that he knew they couldn't possibly be defeated. Cowering somewhere, perhaps. But dead? Implausible.

As time went on, he allowed himself to throw his eyes in the direction of some of the casualties. Recognizing some of them as students of Namimori, he became irate. Not visibly fuming, but noting to drag the revenge out so that maximum suffering would be attained.

The Cloud only became interested at one point during his search and that was at a drop zone. He had analyzed each one he passed, for a hair or a piece of clothing, for something that would quicken the pace of finding those idiots. Here he found just that.

A silver hair. No doubt previously a dweller of Gokudera Hayato's head. He twirled it in his fingers and stood up, not pausing to stand there, and climbed the stairs of a nearby fire escape. This building was burning at the base, but Hibari paid no heed. If that hothead had been hit by a bomb, tough or not, he would not be far.

The narrowed eyes stung from the ash but never blinked. They search the vicinity until locking on four boys moving unsteadily to the east. One was being carried by another, undoubtedly Gokudera and Yamamoto.

_I could find the culprit on my own, but you're my fastest bet. So cooperate or I'll have to bite you all to death._


	11. Beginning

Kyoya Hibari's patience was growing thin. He had not discovered the damaged school but an hour before and already was itching to kill.

He wasted no time in closing on the group; it was a mere several minutes before he presented himself in their pathway. "If you don't tell me exactly what happened, I will bite you to death."

The Cloud's voice was calm and level, as usual, but there was an extra bit of bitterness that made Sawada Tsunayoshi lift his head a little quicker. He knew the voice instantly—they all did—but they were all equally surprised at the prefect's sudden presence. He was clad in his customary Discipline Committee uniform with his coat undone and his tie flowing loosely around his neck. But what struck them were his eyes, so grim, and his jaw set oh so defiantly.

The Sun guardian managed a smile. He always managed a smile. He took a step towards Hibari, hands playfully clenched in fists, "Kyoya, are you here to help us fight?"

As per usual, the Cloud didn't even blink.

He regarded the Sun with nothing but a glance and continued to stare ahead at the young Mafia boss. Sawada Tsunayoshi was biting his lip, unsure how to answer the original question. Finally deciding to do just as the prefect demanded, he began.

"_Gokudera, Yamamoto, we'll be late!"_

He remembered running to meet Ryohei at the gates of Namimori.

"_You guys will get us all in detention, to the extreme!"_

He remembered Ryohei pushing them forward, Yamamoto laughing, and Gokudera snarling. He recalled his own fear of detention.

He related what happened when they had just passed the through the gates: the cracking, the quaking, the echoing. Not a sound from them. They had turned uniformly to look at the city. It was Gokudera who had broken the silence with a curse.

What he didn't remember was who moved first. It was very possible that their minds clicked at the same time and wordlessly ran at the same time as well. But his memory picked up at the corner of the school.

"_Tenth, we have to get you out of the city!"_

A second explosion. Tangible smoke rising. Closer now.

They stood dumbstruck, and Tsuna memorized each look on his friends' faces. Ryohei's was dumbfounded, Gokudera's was engrossed, and Yamamoto's was alarmed. Then they heard the planes.

There were two. One, Gokudera assumed, to locate the target and another to drop the bomb. When they finally realized the school was the next target, they took off towards the city because they had to get away. It was not smart, but no one had time to _be_ smart. Just to be safe.

The force of the explosion took them all to their knees. A bomb this powerful, Gokudera had said, couldn't possibly be highly stocked. No one possessed the technology for that. He guessed there could only be one or two more of that power before smaller, less potent explosives were released.

"_So we just have to keep running."_

Gokudera nodded at Yamamoto's simple guess.


	12. New Game

The Cloud guardian listened to the story with unwavering intensity. He never removed his intent look from the boss's face, which made the latter feel a little uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he got through everything.

The Cloud turned on his heels and began down the street. Dumbly, the others followed. Sawada Tsunayoshi was not in the mood to ask questions, but Sasagawa Ryohei was. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

The prefect's steps didn't falter. "To punish the one who destroyed the school."

The Sun guardian ran along side of him and grabbed onto his shoulder, spinning him around. "We're on the same team here, to the extreme! We need to cooperate with each other. We _don't _split up. So put your damn school aside for a moment here and listen!"

Aside from his jaw tensing, Hibari didn't move. He didn't blink. He regarded the man before him as a waste of time.

"Let go of my shirt or I'll bite you to death."

"Like hell you will."

It doesn't make sense that the Sun and Cloud would get along. Rather, that they'd get in the way of each other. But the Storm should go hand and hand with the Rain and that doesn't happen. So the boss was not surprised when the two began to bicker. Although he rarely showed it, the big brother was harsh. Always determined, always ready to fight, but usually with a smile. There was no smile now.

Sasagawa's eyes were extreme, his frown to match. Kyoya's were uncaring and teasing, his frown daring. But they couldn't fight. Not here, not under these circumstances. And Tsunayoshi knew that his Sun guardian would never harm a comrade intentionally.

Like lightning, the prefect smacked the top of the boxer's hand with his tonfa.

A yelp and then a growl escaped the victim and he lunged, only to be stopped by Tsuna. The boss's eyes showed disbelief and sorrow, making the Sun immediately regret his actions. "I apologize, Sawada, to the extreme."

"We can't fight. We can't afford to fight. We're dealing with something none of us can take down by ourselves. For right now, we need to let go of our disparities and just work together. This is serious stuff; I need all of you to try your hardest."

The Cloud didn't respond with a nod like the others, but turned and began walking again.

Yamamoto Takeshi couldn't believe someone could be so selfish, but shifted his grip on his fallen friend and pursued. Gokudera wasn't heavy, he was actually light, but the Rain prayed he would wake up soon.

Realizing he hadn't said anything in a while, Tsuna glanced at his friend. "Yamamoto, are you alright?"

The Rain looked at his boss and forced a smile and a nod.

At the corner of the street, the traffic light was flashing on red and the streetlights had fallen so that they acted as a blockade around the group. The Cloud stopped for a moment and looked around, deciding where to turn. As the rest caught up, a streetlight directly behind them fell with a heart-stopping thud. All four whipped around to lay eyes on the light and recognized the perfect, giant square now formed around them.

The asphalt in this area was cracked and looked like defined squares from a board game. A board game.

A board game.

A board game.

As if told, all four directed their eyes to the flashing traffic light as it turned, and stayed, yellow. Five figures, clad in black, marched from the opposite side of the street. They stepped over the fallen light uniformly with ease and stopped. Then, a melodic voice.

"Well, hello, Vongola. Ready to play again?"

The voice was distinctly Byakuran's and sent shivers up Tsuna's spine.

"I chose another war game; those are just the most fun. You may know it as Bul. Instead of a dice, we will use this delightful traffic light. Pay close attention because each time it blinks is a step you'll take forward."

A mist filled the middle of the cross street and the Vongola lost sight of Byakuran's players.

"I'm adding some special effects. What fun is this? If you've played this game before, little Vongola, you know that when you play in teams, there are five or six players. I have five. You _had _five. So allow me to awaken him for you, no need to thank me, this is purely for my maximum amusement."

On Yamamoto's back, Gokudera stirred. His eyes shot open after a moment, horrified, and he gripped his head with both hands. The Rain set him carefully on the ground and watched him with curiosity. The boxer and the boss joined him, kneeling next to their friend.

"Gokudera, are you alright? Look at us!" Sawada Tsunayoshi dared not touch his friend in fear of startling him, but he could hardly bear to watch him in such pain.

Byakuran spoke again: "Oh let him be, let him be. He'll be alright. My, my, Tsunayoshi you are quite the worrywart. I'm returning to the instructions so listen up."

The Storm guardian was still holding his head, eyes closed tight, and shaking violently, but Tsuna had no choice but to turn away from him. The Sun yearned to heal him, but knew he had to wait until Byakuran was done. Unconsciously, Yamamoto Takeshi kept a hand on the Storm's back comfortingly.

"We'll go in counter-alphabetical order. That means you start, Tsunayoshi. The cracks on the ground do indeed form squares for my game. Watch the yellow light. It will flash a certain number of times and then resume red. The number of flashes equals the number of steps you take. Take one more or one less, and you will be punished."

The Sun guardian's eyes were scrutinizing every building, looking for a clue as to where this adversary might be lurking.

"When you land on a square where one of my players is, you take him captive. Additionally, mine can take any one of you captive. Fear not, torture does not begin until the prisoner is taken back to base. Ah, yes. Your base, how silly of me to forget, is that bakery beside you."

The guardians looked to their "base", which was a commonly visited bakery. Its windows were shattered and the desserts spread about on the checkered floor and smeared on the displays. There was no longer a door.

"The mist will add an exhilarating touch (my idea). The rules change a little bit here. When you are taken captive, your mouth will be covered and hand cuffed. This will ensure that not one of your comrades will know you were taken unless they see it. In turn, it will also create a win-win situation for me. If you kill my men, fine. But at least I know you were terrified while doing it. And if my men kill all of you, well, I win."

Byakuran laughed as if he was just told a harmless joke. Disgusted, Ryohei stood up. "And if we decline?"

Byakuran was silent a moment, but his singsong voice continued, "Well, dire punishment will ensue. Now shut up and listen. If, and only if, one of you manages to land on the square of my player with yours captive, you may free him once you get back to base and take mine. Then you take him back to your base and kill him, or do what you please. Now hear this: all weapons must be left at base. Every single one. We don't want you fighting back and possibly winning after you're taken captive, that's no fun. No, you will have only your fists as defense. Is that clear? If I find that one of you is keeping a weapon, the game is over and my men are free to attack. Now deposit your weapons in the bakery. Are you ready to play? As the host, I'll let my guests go first. Get ready Tsunayoshi. _Begin!_"


	13. Deaf

Gokudera Hayato had never been more disoriented.

His head was pounding but he couldn't be sure where the pain was the strongest. He resorted to holding his hands on either side of his head very forcefully, but no relief came.

He also couldn't hear _anything_.

Fearing this was permanent, his discomfort increased. Through the pain, he just barely felt someone's touch, a usually unwelcome but now comforting gesture, on his back. He didn't dare open his eyes.

But when the Storm guardian felt someone feeling in his jacket, he couldn't help it. He risked a peek and felt as if he was punched in the forehead. The light was horrible, but he knew he'd have to tough it out. He found it was the Rain guardian and he was grabbing out his gun. Instinctively, Gokudera gripped the Rain's wrist to stop him and scowled. But the look on Yamamoto's face was serious, something that made him let go.

The brown, friendly eyes were edged with concern and it made Gokudera wonder how he got there. How _did_ he get here? He saw Yamamoto's mouth moving, but he couldn't hear the words.

The Rain guardian frowned at his friend's expression. It was like Gokudera didn't understand. He repeated, "We have to give up our weapons. Are you okay?"

Gokudera's mouth was slightly open, his eyes unblinking—it was the perfect picture of confusion. It worried the baseball player, but he couldn't dwell on it now. He handed the Storm's gun to Ryohei who threw it in the bakery.

All five, including Gokudera who was only following their gazes, turned toward the red traffic light. The game was beginning and it was Tsuna's turn. He walked the twenty feet to the starting position and waited.

They watched silently as it flashed yellow. One. Two. Three. Four.

Sawada Tsunayoshi sucked in a deep breath to steady his nerves, and stepped forward. He went straight, unsure of every step. The mist made it so that the Vongola family couldn't see beyond the traffic light. They had no idea what lay ahead of its glow.

After putting his weight on his fourth step, Tsunayoshi looked over his shoulder at his friends. Gokudera was standing, which both relieved and concerned him, and was watching him curiously. Ryohei nodded his support, purpose flickering in his eyes. Hibari looked indifferent, impatiently awaiting his turn and irritated that he had to part with his tonfa. Yamamoto gave him a reassuring smile, but Tsuna couldn't tell how much of it was forced.

The Rain guardian took his position at the starting point. He felt Gokudera's eyes fixed on him, and he was sorry he couldn't explain the game to him. Weaponless, but not powerless, he was ready to begin.

One. Two.

Only two? That's alright. He could watch Tsuna's back from his position. The boys exchanged nods but had nothing to say to each other.

Gokudera was perplexed, to say the least. He watched Ryohei take his place at the line. What was this? What's going on? Some sort of game? He sought the eyes of the Tenth and was pretty sure his feelings were clear. The Tenth, however, was moving he mouth to no avail. The Storm assumed he was yelling to him, elucidating the circumstances. But he couldn't hear a hum.

Hibari was at his side, winning his attention. Clever as always, the Cloud guessed that the Storm couldn't hear. He spoke slowly, enough for Gokudera to read his lips. "It's a game. Follow our lead." Hibari focused his gaze on Ryohei and then the traffic light. Gokudera did the same.

Ryohei inhaled deeply, smiling with anticipation. He was more than ready to play these games. Perhaps the skin on skin fighting was most appealing to him.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Overwhelmed with satisfaction that he was to go the farthest, he stepped one, avoided Yamamoto's square by going left one, then forward. He rested a step ahead, diagonal, from Sawada.

Without looking at Gokudera again, Hibari casually strode to his position. He assumed, according to his marks at school, that Gokudera was smart enough to figure out the game after the initial push. The whole of this event was troublesome, but to get to the conclusion of the game, you have to go through every level; his prize was the "reprimand" of he who damaged the school.

One. Two. Three. Four.

This was good; he wouldn't be the first and he wouldn't be the last. Kyoya Hibari was determined to finish this game without a scratch. With four "squares", he was covered from front and back. He made his way through Tsuna's gang and rested in between Yamamoto and Tsuna.

Each guardian turned to look at Gokudera. His mouth was closed tightly and his eyes were wide as he tried to make sense of the game. He slowly approached the foot of the largest intersection of the city and waited for the flashes.

One. Two. Three.

This was perfect, right? He would land himself right beside Yamamoto and hopefully the idiot could stop being an idiot long enough to understand that the Storm couldn't hear a single thing and explain this "game" to him.

Everyone jumped except for Gokudera, who didn't hear the melodic, booming voice when he took his place beside the Rain.

"Too slow. Let's make things more interesting."


	14. Rethink

The tuneful voice reverberated through the ruined streets. Frustration, fear, expectancy, annoyance—common to all guardians but in differing degrees.

Along the borders of the intersection, flames enclosed the players. Now the true boundaries of the "board" were set. Sparks danced into the sky and showered the onlookers with ash.

Afraid, but never to admit to it, to suffer the penalties of stepping off of the "square", Kyoya Hibari glared at the sparks then up at the sky where the ashes mimicked snow fall. Just what this city needs. More flaming destruction.

Orange blended with yellow. Red blended with blue. Natural dancers, those flames were. Mesmerizing. They crackled and recoiled, waved and disappeared. The blaze cast light on the guardians' faces until the smoke was sufficiently thick enough to hide the burning beauty. With each crackle, the Vongola boss blinked with the fire.

The heat was uncomfortable. Sawada Tsunayoshi caught himself staring into the blaze when it occurred to him it was his turn. He was tired. He was beat. But this game had only just begun.

He took his six steps and apprehensively noted his friends were mere blurs. It was only six steps. But this must be the new "interesting" aspect of the game—it's more dangerous if you can't be seen.

It was ironic. He had spent all those months dismissing the Mafia as some sort of game, and now it was. But it wasn't, was it? Lives were still endangered and getting sliced still hurt. So it couldn't be a game. Not a real game. But it was for Byakuran.

Yamamoto Takeshi was uncharacteristically lost in thought. The Sun guardian yelled at him and he snapped up just quick enough to start counting flashes of yellow. Nine? He looked at Gokudera, wishing he could stay close to help him. Byakuran increased the number of steps. To quicken the pace? For what motive?

He opted to move diagonally to the left. If all five of them kept going straight, they would all end up in trouble. But spreading out could look like an ambush. Since when did smoke increase brain power?  
His hair coated in ash, Sasagawa Ryohei punched the air dramatically when he saw seven flashes. More steps, less vision. Greater challenge. Of course the boxer was up to this. To the right four, forward three. Yes, that seemed good. When would a challenger come along?

He rotated his shoulders as he often did before a boxing match. Small cracks gave way to pain as his body reminded him of the roughness it endured not too long ago. But Ryohei was a natural at tolerating such injuries. He didn't think he had broken any bones, and suffering from gashes and burns couldn't be called a form of suffering at all.

Ten. Rather than step carefully as if the black top would give way at any moment's hesitation, the Cloud guardian marched to his desire spot. Six left, four forward. And now he couldn't see anyone. Scared? No. Aggravated? Yes. He hoped steamily that being away from those people would calm him. He almost laughed at himself for daring to expect to calm down surrounded by fire, covered in ash, unable to breathe, and stuck in a "game" when he should be fighting.

The smoke was getting thicker. Unable to hear, unable to see, Gokudera Hayato almost missed the flashes. He, like the Tenth, got six and took all of them going forward. He was able to see the outline of his boss and that comforted him. But he saw another approaching.

"Tenth!"

Tsuna spun around when Gokudera's voice broke the silence. His eyes landed on a figure pointing forward and he spun around again.

Black mask. Black clothes. Stepping onto _his_ square.

The strangers arms wrapped around Tsuna before he had a chance to fight it. He was frantic in a headlock and was held still. He pushed against the adversary's well-muscled body to no avail. He would be taken back to base. There was nothing he could do.

Gokudera cursed and hoped that he had at least been heard. Stupidly, he shook his head willing his ears to hear. He hit them and shook it some more. What was he doing? Desperateness would surely drive him to his grave. But, oh, what he would do just to hear one jingle!

The Rain guardian heard the yell and predicted the curse. This couldn't go on. He couldn't finish the game. Not with his sanity intact. It was bad enough his mobility was restricted, but that he couldn't see his friends drove him wild. No more. No more. No more. No penalty could be harsher than what he was enduring right now.

But perhaps that was the point. Byakuran wanted them to over think each breath, each blink. To recoil and choose a different way. To rethink good ideas and drive themselves into oblivion.

How did he know this? He didn't. But this time he didn't want to risk second guessing himself.


	15. Game Over

Not a game, not a game.

Unquestionable. This is not a game.

People are dying, lying in the streets cold and unattended to. People are _dead_, wasting away against the blood-stained concrete or otherwise incinerated in callous flames.

People are scared, crying out for their forever missing loved ones and praying to any god they can remember. People are _traumatized_, checking over their shoulders or looking at the sky before they can take even one more breath.

People are depressed; their homes destroyed and forced to leave the city. People are _ruined;_ their jobs obliterated and any source of income vanishing from beneath their noses.

And now he knew, Hell—he would die with this truth, that any act with any weapon was _not_ a game.

And that's what made the Rain guardian execute his stupidest stunt yet.

With his friend's fowl language as his guidance, he ran. He ran with the sole determination to stop this "game."

Oh, he knew there would be consequences. However, he was ignorant of just what kind. He didn't care. He ran. He locked his eyes. He threw a fist. He made contact. Solid contact to the side of the head.

Tsuna was taken aback. The calm, pessimistic baseball player—he snapped? But of course he did. His friends were in danger. Tsuna knew better than anyone how grand Yamamoto's heart was. But he also recognized that it was the guardian's grandest fault.

There was no lesson to be learned for Yamamoto Takeshi. Nothing he could change about himself to ensure a better outcome. If he wasn't as protective or magnanimous, surely there would have been more injuries, more deaths, surrounding his life. No, his foolishness both saved and condemned him and his friends. This he knew; this they all knew. Gokudera bashed him and Tsuna thanked him for it nearly every day. Never perfect, never completely erroneous. So life goes on.

Surprise aside, the young boss had nothing to say. He watched Yamamoto seethe with exasperation. He wore the same look as when he would play a rival team in baseball, but much more fierce. Much more imperative.

The Storm guardian was probably more surprised than the Tenth. His mouth still agape, his eyes still searching the idiot for some kind of clue as to what under the sun caused him to pull a stunt like that. And what caused _him_ not to. Isn't _he _the reckless one? Yes, he wasn't that out of touch with reality. _He _should be the one belting these strange men? That idiot shouldn't simply because he shouldn't. Simply because it wasn't his job, it was the Storm's. Simply because he might do something wrong and get them all killed…get himself killed.

Gokudera cursed himself for caring.

"Oh, no, Rain. That's against the rules. Didn't I tell you there would be consequences? Tsk-tsk."

He was used to the drill now. The Storm guardian watched as his friends listened intently to…to what? He had been trying so hard to understand the task before him—the "game"—that he hadn't even bothered to consider who it was who set it up. Damn his ears, damn the bomb, damn the bastard who's causing this whole mess.

"You've done it. I'd tell you to prepare for battle, but it's too late. Enjoy!"

Too late?

It was Hibari who saw them coming first. But in silence, he ran to grab his tonfa. The others would find out soon enough. No use wasting his voice.

Ryohei was ready. His eyes were intrepid, his fearless smirk on his face. Bring it on.

He knew not what happened, evidently; he thought this was some new addition to the game that Yamamoto was responsible for. Nonetheless, he took pleasure in listening to the approaching men; their footsteps blurred with the crackling of the fire surrounding them. His stinging eyes were not of importance. The injuries sustained from the first "game" were still disregarded. Nothing would hinder his chances at victory.

Tsuna was unsure. But the familiar feeling took on an extra hint of alarm: he couldn't breathe through the smoke just standing there, how could they all fight? It was a wonder that Yamamoto hadn't dropped just from running through it, though he had coughed a few times. The young boss's eyes were watering, his throat was more than scratchy, he tasted a mixture of blood and smoke, and heard the approaching five. He couldn't see more than three feet in front of him. Gokudera had vanished from sight completely and he could only see the outline of Yamamoto. How could they fight?

Yamamoto felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach and he couldn't regain his breath. He didn't show it. Running was his choice. He didn't regret it. He was proud of it. Now he heard what was coming but couldn't see it. The Rain looked over his shoulder for the third time, hoping to see some sign of Gokudera again. There was none. It worried him that his friend would be fighting without hearing or seeing the enemy. He took back his concern—Gokudera could handle it. He was strong. Especially in endurance. Yamamoto needs only to be bothered by his own well-being. But he knew that wasn't true, he wouldn't do it. He would protect his friends.

Gokudera thought about moving. He thought about retreating to that bakery that Yamamoto had showed him they put their weapons in. He thought about charging forward and meeting the enemy halfway. But he stood his ground. That's when the pain came flooding back through his body. As if he went back in time and had been hit all over again. If he was motionless before, Gokudera was the epitome of a statue now. Rather than consider running, he considered dropping where he was. But that was not an option. He was aware of the blood coursing from his wounds again; the liquid dripping from his neck down his back and leaking from various cuts on his arms and chest, lining his ribs and muscles. He was aware of the constant throbbing in his head, the ache in his shoulders, and the burning of his back and face. Even so, he had made up his mind.

Tonfa secured in each hand, out of the smoke's path, Hibari was feeling prepared. If he couldn't harm the mastermind to all of this, at least he could play with his subordinates. He'd take them on, even if it was a waste of Byakuran's efforts. Visible or not, Hibari pledged to bite them all to death.


	16. So

The street light flickered until the yellow glow diminished into nothing. The sun was hidden behind the lofty billows of dark smoke. The mixture of the burning air and Byakuran's mist kept the ground concealed. Shadowy, gloomy, darkness. The only source of light was the inconsistent throbbing of the flames.

It's unreal.

A punch landed on the Mafia boss's temple. His flew to the ground and his hand flew to his head. Searing pain. But only for a moment.

He was up with a newfound resolve: he had to make sure his friends made it out alive.

Without thinking, without seeing the adversary, Sawada Tsunayoshi punched right back. But this wasn't a movie. He recognized that a long time ago. And he missed.

He pulled back his arm and struck again, landing a firm hit on something.

Something.

That something wrapped a sturdy, cold hand around his wrist and kneed Tsuna in the gut. Immediately losing air, the former's legs crumpled beneath him as he was thrown by that strong being. The contact with the ground the second time around was more painful than the first. Less forgiving.

So are we just tilting at windmills?

He heard the smacks, he saw nothing. So is this what its like to feel useless? Yamamoto Takeshi struck out at air once, twice, three times, now four. For the life of him, he couldn't find that dark stranger. The gasping, the kind you make when the breath is knocked out of you, was unmistakably Tsuna's. The swordsman longed to help, but he couldn't even say he just sat there and watched. He sat there and listened. So which is the more cowardly?

But he wasn't being a coward. He just couldn't do anything. He felt around in the thick fog for several seconds before he received a blow of his own. So the opponents could see them?

The pain in his jaw barely fazed him. After all he'd been through today he didn't believe anything truly could. He opened his mouth slowly and felt the bone shift slightly, so he closed it tight and countered with a kick. He landed his foot on…something.

A stomach, maybe? A chest? A leg? Could be anything.

For the shortest of moments, the Rain guardian dwelled on his hatred of the smoke. Yes, Yamamoto Takeshi hated something. Hated _this _something right here in front of him. Hated everything about the "game" he and his friends were stuck in. Hated how he couldn't see even a foot in front of him or call what he was doing an attempt to fight this guy.

When the dark boot came into his twelve inches of vision, saying the Rain's reactions were too slow was an understatement. He had no chance; he never did.

The contact with his chest undoubtedly broke ribs. He heard several cracks and lost breath fast than he ever had in his life. Faster than when the catcher tripped him as he was sliding into home, faster than when he was hit by an eighty-some-odd mph fastball at practice—this was instantaneous.

That fool was down before he even made contact with Kyoya Hibari. Silly, really.

It was true enough that the Cloud guardian couldn't see more than half of his own arm when he stuck it straight out, but the foe made the mistake of judging his hearing. Through the crackling of the flames and screeching of the car alarms and the beating of his heart, he heard that man breathing. Louder than anyone he's heard before. So Byakuran's men were fighting scared? Well, that's a disadvantage.

The prefect twirled the tonfa in his hands before closing his eyes to listen. No more breathing. Bitten to death.

So that's what the anticipation amounts to? Ridiculous. He would get away unscathed. So was this Byakuran weak, too? Wonderful. His precious Namimori was taken down by less than a weakling. Hardly a threat. So that's why he slept through the initial attack. The fight wasn't worth his time.

And the school? Why, it must've been destroyed for a reason. Come to think of it, they were due to enroll more students next year than ever. They needed to reconstruct sections of Namimori anyway. So Kyoya Hibari could help with the plans of the new school and would be even more proud of it. So was the bombing a bad thing?

Of course. Of course it was. That school was precious to him. That he can rebuild it into something maybe more precious was beside the point. Byakuran was still scheduled to be bitten to death.

Bombs were too dangerous to use; the explosion might injure a comrade. But his gun? Well, the smoke set him up for failure but he considered his reflexes speedy. There would be an opening: when the dark figures made contact with his body, the Storm would take his shot. He couldn't miss with the target so close.

So if his plan was foolproof, why was he shaking?

Oh, yes. There was the matter of the blood loss.

But he wouldn't let this hinder his chances at protecting the Tenth and his friends. Never would he let his own well-being stand in the way of theirs. He wasn't trying to be a hero; he was sincerely trying to be a good right hand man and a good friend.

But as he slowly walked, gun in hand, he faltered. The black stars were dancing in his peripherals. He shook his head, making it worse, making him dizzy, and tightened his grip on the gun. His finger wrapped around the trigger. So was this to be his last stand?

No, he was supposed to be indomitable. So when the foreign hand enveloped the Storm's neck, he wasted no time in firing. As that something fell, Gokudera Hayato caught a glimpse of the blood glistening on that hand. His own blood.

The adrenaline had his heart beating fast; the blood escaped those old wounds faster. The black stars were bigger, the dancing faster. So was this the only guy he could kill? He had to make his body last longer.

Finally, someone tried to hit him! The Sun guardian waited all day for this. This was his kind of battle—his kind of "game". A shot to the shoulder, a counter to the head. A land on the face, a counter to the stomach. A blow to the ear, a knee to the chest, block left, right hook, there! Square in the jaw. Yes, that was a powerful right hook. The boxer hoped Byakuran's men would be better trained; he only suffered two hits. His ear barely throbbed and his shoulder needed only to be twisted and flexed to feel good again. So is that guy down for the count?

A boot was dug into the back of the Sun's knees, sending him to the ground. He threw his head back and hit what felt like a nose. Ouch. But it more than likely hurt the enemy more than it hurt him. No more movement.

So he won already? That skirmish lasted barely two minutes. Disappointing.

Sasagawa Ryohei pushed himself up off the ground and he heard the gunshot. He knew that gun. For some reason, the Storm's gun sounded distinct to him. Maybe it was the number of times he heard that thing go off in a month, or maybe he just had excellent hearing. Whatever the reason, he smirked. So Octopus-Head got one, too? Easy. Too easy. A trap? Maybe. But for some reason, it seemed unlikely. And so, they would win.


	17. Power

Where were the firemen? The police? The hospital staff? Oh, yes. Obliterated.

Maybe not. But it was likely.

Perhaps they're just hiding now. They do have families and lovers, after all. They can only do so much for this city. They're heroes, but they're still human.

It's a good thing they're not here; Sawada Tsunayoshi couldn't handle any more fatalities. Because of him. Because he was the Tenth. Because Byakuran targeted him. Because he was a Mafioso.

The smoke was stinging his eyes something awful. He was gasping for clean air but inhaling only the carbon dioxide given off from the flames. He was lying on the ground and listening.

The smacking.

The shooting.

The cursing.

The cracking.

The screaming.

And for what? Power. That's all it's ever about. Men and women die on a daily basis for the sickening goal. But Tsuna was different. His friends were different. They fought for each other and for those that they loved.

But that's a source of power, too.

Yamamoto Takeshi landed close to Tsuna. His eyes were wide in pain and his mouth was stuck open. He needed air. He couldn't breathe. The pain in his abdomen was excruciating to say the least; so intense that he hadn't noticed he'd hit the ground.

The boss was over him in an instant. When he finally croaked out some syllables, he only managed to ask his friend if he was alright. The Rain guardian made no reply, only tried to take in air as quickly as possible with his eyes open wide.

Ignorance is bliss, no? Tsuna was focused on Yamamoto, unaware of the enemy behind him. But with a right hand man like Gokudera, the boss tends not to have to worry about watching his own back twenty-four hours a day.

Gun in hand, ready to fire, the Storm guardian wrapped his arms around the adversary's neck from behind and leveled his gun with the man's temple.

"Who, or what, are you?" The Storm's words were characteristically bitter, but predominantly curious.

No response; the man had a peculiar smell, almost like metal, but no—it was blood. How could he smell like blood with no such red on him? He was of Gokudera's height, but twice the size in terms of muscles. And age? It was impossible to deduce.

The burly shoulders shifted under the bomber's grip; the latter pressed the gun forcefully against the former's skin as a reminder of who should be calling the shots. Game or not, this was no time to play. But the silent stranger clad in black had a different outlook on the situation and mustered his strength as he sent his head flying into Gokudera's face. Quicker than the enemy hoped, the Storm shifted his head and was struck in the mouth rather than the nose.

Grateful of his high pain tolerance, he held on. Without a second thought, Gokudera kneed the man in his back to get distance, and fired. The bullet caused blood to splatter from his penetrated skull.

The feeling of dripping blood wasn't new to Gokudera Hayato. Especially not today. His neck might have finally ceased its bleeding, but the liquid was dripping off his chin from the most recent blow. The bomber couldn't remember a time he had ever been hit harder in the face. The pain was excruciating, but he dared not let it show.

Tsuna hadn't seen it all, but he unquestionably heard it. It made him feel awful. The grunts and smacks all sounded too painful. But this was Gokudera. He could handle anything. Right? He's supposed to be unbeatable.

But so is Byakuran.

And no way would Byakuran win this battle.

This war.

Gokudera's not unbeatable, then. Not to Byakuran or his men. None of them are. So if both sides _think_ they have the best chance at winning, the only way to settle it is by physical competition. Negotiations won't work; the pride on each side is far too tremendous. And such is the logic behind war.

The Rain guardian had enough breath back in him to push himself up on his elbows, despite the strain it caused him. What number was that? How many men have been defeated? Do they have a legitimate chance? Is this game over?

This was too much; too close. He needed his sword. In no way is the swordsman weak, but that's what he is: a _swordsman. _Blind close combat was not an option for him, not in his condition. Not after the beatings he took today. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

"Tenth?"

The voice was so muffled, so strained. To hear it was agonizing when it should have been relieving. When the Tenth answered, it came out as a question: "Gokudera?"

He hadn't meant it to; the tone took him off guard. What could he expect, really? His friend had nearly died today. Could possibly be dying right now-they all could be. Nonetheless, Tsuna couldn't vanquish his earlier remark: Gokudera's supposed to be unbeatable.

"I'm here, Tenth. Are you alright?"

Tsuna got up from the ground and followed the familiar voice. At the end of Gokudera's sentence, he saw him. His voice had been muffled; the bomber had been holding his sleeve over his mouth at an attempt to staunch the blood flow. But from the looks of it, there was no such luck.

What hit Tsuna hardest were Gokudera's eyes: they were bloodshot from the smoke, screaming pain, and ultimately retired. He couldn't be giving up? No, not Gokudera. It wasn't in his nature.

Remembering the question, Tsuna quickly nodded his head and said, a little too frantically, "We have to get out of this square." Though he was well aware they needed to regroup before that because there would be no losses today if he could help it.

Gokudera didn't reply, which was typical, but strode carefully past the Tenth until his foot made contact with Yamamoto's shoe. He knelt down next to the Rain and offered his hand. A little stunned, the Rain accepted and was hoisted up to his feet. Their grip was slimy with blood.


	18. Split

How disheartening! He had only been able to take on one challenger. This was unfair, to the extreme. Gokudera and Hibari cheated—they used weapons! Surely they were to be held responsible for this inequality. Only one!

He'd enjoyed it (of course he had); it was always a pleasure when his strength was confirmed. After winning a match, the boxer always felt unstoppable. What a marvelous feeling to relive! This hype, this adrenaline, this _power_ could be what carries him through his matches. But he's not so arrogant. Not on the surface.

How did he know the enemies were finished? Boxer's instinct. What a silly notion. For the past four minutes—yes, 240 seconds counted slowly in his head—there has been not a single sound apart from the groan of the doomed city. No gunshots or yelling or kicking or running or cursing or choking. To most, the silence would be threatening. On most occasions, even to the Sun guardian it would be. But on a day where nothing is customary, nothing predictable, silence is an extremely welcome gift. It is the sound of victory. For the time being.

Regardless of his wanting to fight, the billows of smoke enclosing the square are becoming too much to bear and it would be a good idea to find his friends and get the hell out of here.

The wounds inflicted on him throughout the day have been minor to the guardian. Conceivably, this is how it would seem because of present adrenaline rush. Funny thing, this adrenaline: some could consider it stronger than morphine. Nevertheless, the boxer deemed himself to be lucky, to the extreme. So how are his friends faring?

It's considerably amusing, the way people treat people these days. The Cloud guardian was not cold hearted, not to the core. Conversely, it was a fascinating topic. Treating a gang of derelicts as toys in a "game", with the boundaries of a single city was sadistic at best. Let us not forget the terrorizing of all who inhabit said city. How selfish. This guy must be a piece of work.

The Cloud duly noted to be extra unforgiving when he bites this Byakuran to death.

It can't be helped.

Kyoya Hibari turned on his heels as he dropped the body of his latest kill. No mark of any kind on the man's clothes. This was peculiar, but unconsciously expected. Solid black blazer, solid black dress shirt, solid black tie, solid black dress pants, and solid black face mask. The shoes, gloves, and belt were all a given.

The flames were dying, the crackling was hushing. When the last of the light faded, the prefect stepped out of the square. Ah, clean air. Curious how the smoke seemed to stay confined to boundary lines of the intersection. It was rising, anyway. The sky took on a darker color and could be mistaken as overcast. Wouldn't that be cliché and suitable? But, no; the pollution was merely painting the sky.

It only took him a moment to register the calling of his name. So Tsunayoshi managed to stay alive through that little game. Whether Tsuna would or would not make it out was never decided, the Cloud simply never gave that derelict a thought. Now, should he ignore the callings or proceed to the caller? He might as well join them. Although hanging around him and his gang was an insult to his own intelligence, Hibari believed they might be useful as decoys or something to that effect later on down the road. If they were killed, well, he would remember it when faced with Byakuran.

The respite of escaping the shady clouds was dashed when Tsuna realized just how badly his friends' states were. Gokudera was an absolute mess. He gave a new definition to the word, really. It looked as if he wore a suit of blood and raw skin. Where unburned skin still remained was pale, scratched, and bruised. His face, for instance, was insipid excepting his new mouth injury, a profound gash across his right temple, and a stream of blood sliding down the middle of his forehead from a concealed slice.

Yamamoto was not quite as bloody as the bomber, but Tsuna knew of the damage he bore internally. With the broken ribs, it was remarkable he was standing. His shoulder, too, seemed wrecked. Raw skin was present on his forearms and lacerations across both cheeks were prominent. The swordsman's limp from an early injury had only gotten worse and his dampened pant leg vouched for the severity of the penetration.

No words were spoken, but the Rain didn't even try to appear hopeful. By the time Ryohei emerged, Tsuna was wondering if they would make it out of Byakuran's game. Would they live? _Could _they live? Survival seems impossible.

He wouldn't share these thoughts, unsurprisingly, but each of his friends was more than likely sharing in his despair. Ryohei, unwavering as always, was eager to win. He was more than eager—he was desperate. They _would _win and they _would _endure.

The Rain guardian couldn't believe the situation. Admittedly, he was spent. Never, never did he want to confess defeat; but never has he felt more vulnerable. Who could fight anymore? It seemed like only Hibari and maybe Ryohei, but the two couldn't defend the entire group. Could they get away? Possibly, running away is cowardly. But even more possible is their deaths. Every one of them.

"Hiding seems our only option right now," Yamamoto spoke quietly and without realizing it.

"Hide where?" Gokudera's should-be snap resulted in a wince of pain.

"I don't know," The swordsman spoke no more; it hurt his ribs too much.

"No way am I cowering," Hibari's words were acidic and dismissive. "If you intend on hiding, I intend to carry on without you derelicts."

Tsuna was horrified by the notion to split, "Hibari—,"

"Even if I never shy from a challenge, I have been taught that friends are more important than your own pride, to the extreme!" Ryohei punched the air swiftly before continuing, "Losing a friend would be a far loss than a single battle."

"But it's not a battle, is it?" Hibari was quick to counter, "This is a war, Sasagawa Ryohei, and to retreat is to surrender your petty lives anyway."

"No life is 'petty'," Tsuna interjected. "Countries, states, societies, _lives_—it's what soldiers fight wars for."

"Naïve," Hibari turned away, preparing to leave. "It's for power."

"What good is power when there's no one around to appreciate it?" Gokudera hissed. "People grant you power."

The Cloud guardian grunted and began to walk. The young boss called his name until the figure disappeared completely around a building. This was horrifying. Now they were split. What would they do?

With only Ryohei and Tsuna capable of fighting, the Rain guardian scanned the buildings. No doubt, Byakuran could see them. No doubt, he was sending another attack or planning another game. But no doubt, concealment was their only chance now.


	19. Hideout

So much could be said: they were doomed since that first bomb struck the ground; there was no nursing the horrendous inflictions, destiny was sealed; without a city and only themselves, there was hardly a will to fight, and so they were disaster-prone; there were only so many limitations they could exceed, and they were done.

Fated.

In all of this, where was Reborn? That childish Mafioso was always ahead of the game. Surely, they wouldn't be in this state of affairs had he shown up. Had Byakuran gotten to him first? Was that possible?

Ruined.

They glanced at each other on the walk through the buildings. Byakuran made a muddled version of the familiar streets with his destruction. The path to school was no better than a maze. They only spared glances. It was too painful to look wholly at each other. None wanted to take in their friends' total damage. Indubitably, their own pain would increase tenfold.

Condemned.

This wasn't over. Was there an end? It was only a matter of time before Gokudera bled out, before Yamamoto's broken ribs penetrated his lungs and he suffocated, before Hibari got himself killed for Namimori, before Ryohei did something stupid, before Tsuna lost all hope.

But that's life.

No, that's death.

The Storm guardian was relieved that he was able to hear out of his left ear, even if it was muffled. He relied still on reading lips, but he could _hear._ He would never take that for granted again. The other ear was continuously pulsating in tune to his heart, but he would not admit he was scared of never hearing again.

Hibari, that fool, how dare he leave the Tenth. 'Vulnerable' was a word the Storm was reluctantly getting more and more acquainted with. Without Hibari, who had remained seemingly unscathed, the group was vulnerable.

The Rain guardian was trembling. Every muscle ached. His arms threatened to fall off and his legs warned him they wouldn't carry his weight much longer. But most of all, the knife-like pain in his abdomen was incapable of being overlooked. It reminded him of those side-cramps he used to get at the beginning of baseball season when the coach had the team run 5 kilometers at the first practice. But this wasn't pain that would go away after two minutes of water and rest.

The Rain's arm was permanently wrapped around his upper waist in hopes of keeping his ribs in place with the pressure. The other arm maintained a stiff grip on his sword. How much longer would they suffer?

"If you were Byakuran, where would you be hiding?" The Rain's voice came out barely above a whisper as he turned to the Sun. But the effort hurt immensely.

"In a corporate building. I'm sure of it, to the extreme!" The Sun punched the air, confident as ever of their victory. Regardless of the odds, he was not a quitter. Afraid for his friends' lives, yes. But he was not about to sit around when he could still put up one hell of a fight.

"So, what, we have to find the only standing building?" The boss looked at Ryohei with a hint of doubt. "Wouldn't that be too obvious?"

The Sun pondered for the briefest moment before declaring, "No, no, not the only standing one, the only one with a basement."

The Tenth considered this with something like bewilderment, "Ryohei, that's very smart!"

While the Sun glowed in the praise, Tsuna went on, "But which building would that be?"

Now the boxer had no answers. He scarcely had time to conjure up a guess when the Storm spoke up. "This one coming up on the right. It's the only one."

Of course he would know that.

But he didn't know why there were no traps surrounding the hideout.

With the Sun in the lead, the group proceeded to the unbroken glass door. Odd. Although it read "Automatic Sliding Door", it took a solid push from Ryohei and Tsuna to make it budge. The glass doors swung in awkwardly and the glass took on a black hue before finally shattering and blending with the street's other buildings. Followed by the color change was a high squeal which could only be some kind of reaction.

Then a burst of light.

Then a sensation of heat.

Then a roar that put thunder to shame.

Then the impact.

Tsuna was glad he and Ryohei were in front of Gokudera and Yamamoto, if only by a few inches. Hurt them, it did, but they'd surely be dead if they were hit head on.

The four were rocketed to the center of the street where each landed with a dull sound compared to the bomb's. No one moved, only breathed.

Engulfed. That was a good word to use in describing their current situation.

Engulfed in pain; engulfed in terror; engulfed in despondency.

But they've come this far. What would they turn back to anyway? If they gave up, they'd die. There was no recovering without taking Byakuran down first. Not for them or the city.

The Tenth Vongola boss rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, regarding the nasty entryway to Byakuran's supposed hideout with chary eyes. This was it. The beginning. The end. The beginning of the end. Failure here meant certain death. Victory meant…what? If Byakuran is defeated here, then what? The city is destroyed, the inhabitants dying with prayers at their lips. But what are they praying for? It's illogical to think the city would magically flourish again.

Tsuna shook his head. No, it wouldn't. But this was the start. He wouldn't let the uncertainties of the future hinder his determination to be here, to fight this villain. And surely there was only one trap at the front door, right?


	20. Disappear

_Damn it._

This is ending. Now.

What a _fool _he was. Of course there was a trap! He should have seen it coming. He should have gone first. Now they're all hurt. How the hell can they destroy Byakuran when they don't even want to try and sit up? Ridiculous. Humiliating.

Sure it hurts. Hurts more than anything in his life; every movement, every stretch of a muscle, feels like it could be his last. But, so help him, the Storm guardian doesn't stop there. Pigheadedness was his claim to fame.

Realizing he had released his tight hold on his gun, he reached for it causing every centimeter of his body to protest. With his fingers tightly wrapped around the weapon once again, he pushed himself up. He resolved to push the pain completely from his mind and focus on only one thing: killing.

Yes, he was aware he was killing himself.

Tsuna watched him get up. He watched him put out his arms to steady himself when he was finally standing. He watched in horror. He watched in awe. He watched until he realized he was only watching.

Much quicker than the Storm had, the Tenth got to his feet and gently touched his friend's arm. When he didn't respond to the touch, Tsuna knew there was nothing he could say to keep him out of the fight. Gokudera was going to stand up for his friends, and he wasn't going to do it alone.

Ryohei pushed himself up to a crouch, seeing he had landed partially on Yamamoto, and offered his hand. Gratefully, the Rain took it and they stood up together. His sword was still clutched tensely in his bloody hand. Imagining this as their last stand wasn't so bad. Much needed rest promised to come.

With a command from Gokudera, Ryohei tossed a good sized rock into the entranceway, triggering a second explosion. The heat of the fire kissed their cheeks as they proceeded. A second rock in hand, Ryohei went first. The space between their bodies and the now familiar flames was dangerously close, but another burn couldn't kill them after all they've endured.

A petty decision presented itself: stairs or elevator? After deciding that the elevator was too obvious and too loud, stairs won. Despite the fact it was indubitably crammed with traps. As the rock was released onto the first step, everyone sucked in their breath. But nothing happened. The rock was kicked to the second step—nothing. The third also posed no threat. The farther down they went, the more suspicious they became; but in vain. Nothing happened. But Byuakuran was unquestionably preparing something. He wouldn't suspect them already dead.

"Thanks for clearing the foyer."

The voice made the boys jump out of their skins as they turned to see Hibari Kyoya standing in the mouth of the stairway. He spoke nothing above a monotone murmur, but any sound other than the drop of the rock was deemed a threat. "Of course, I could have done it myself, but it looked like such a hassle."

Without waiting for any sort of response, the Cloud swung his leg over the railing and let himself drop. His landing was pristine. No subsequent explosion or trickery of any kind. Just a landing.

Ryohei immediately followed.

There was only a single storey. What the hell. Gokudera was gone before Tsuna registered his movement. And of course, if Gokudera could do it, Yamamoto could too. Tsuna was left, stunned, peering over the railing at his friends. Remarkable. Idiotic, but remarkable. How could they go on as if intact?

He took a deep breath before following. He tried not to think about what he was doing as he was doing it. It was foolish and crazy. But the day had been crazy, so why not be foolish? A twisted ankle was nothing compared to what was to come, surely.

Ryohei was already halfway down the next hallway, keeping his eye on Hibari. They would go behind him, every turn. For an unfounded reason, Ryohei assumed Hibari knew what he was doing. Whatever would lead them to Byakuran was a tool worth using.

Hibari passed nine doors exactly when he came upon one that stood out. Not in appearance, for all nine he passed donned the same pale oak door with the same white threshold, but in noise level. To the untrained ear, there would be the humming of a generator perhaps. But to the Cloud, it was the murmuring of voices. The same sort of sound he prided himself on discovering during school hours, because that meant those class-skippers would get detention. The humming of conversation not meant to be heard. The tenth door it was then.

The prefect spared a glace at Ryohei down the hall, making it clear that any kind of racket would be more than unwelcome. And with his disappearance into the room, there was nothing. The Sun guardian was listening closely as his friends joined him at the mouth of the hall, but there was nothing. No words, no hits, no shots. How was the possible? It's the wrong room. It's got to be. But Hibari's prolonged absence suggested not.

Tsuna took the lead. He walked with no weapon in his hand. He walked with no confidence, only hope. The Mafia boss didn't want this day to end with more bloodshed. But then again, he just wanted this day to end.

Not in death.

When they reached the door, all Tsuna saw was shapes. He didn't register the expressions or the faces at all. People. That was right, wasn't it? There were people and they weren't doing anything. Colors. That came next. Was he really so far gone that he had to take baby steps to recognize those who he had seen so often? Black on top of one shape. Could that be Hibari?

They were just standing there.

"Ah, little Vongola, how good of you to join us."

That was the voice. That melodic voice brought Tsuna to his senses, at least somewhat. His eyes focused. Four men and Hibari. One of the men was Byakuran. Why was Hibari just standing there? _How _was Hibari just standing there?

"This one is cooperating. He surrendered the second he walked in that door. Do I believe him? No. Hence the guards. But you could learn from him, Vongola. Please don't make me kill you, I so want you to watch me take over."

Two shots. One pierced the fine white fabric of Byakuran's dress shirt and the other narrowly missed his head, finding residence in the wall. The guards pulled guns instantaneously and shot back. But, wait. The bullets were _missing_ Tsuna.

Behind him. The guards were shooting at something behind him. The shooter. There was only one person who had a gun behind Tsuna.

The brown haired boy turned just in time to watch a bullet embed itself inside the Storm's shoulder with such force that it hurled him to the ground. As if rehearsed, the Rain stepped over his fallen friend with his sword held high. He charged the gunmen, blocking the bullets with his sword just like Reborn had taught him, making Tsuna question his physical state. The Cloud came to life. He kicked a guard in the hip which distracted the other, allowing the Rain to relentlessly bring his sword down.

The third man was held tightly in the Sun's headlock. That was too fast. Tsuna wanted to watch it over in slow motion. His friends were at their best when times were at their worst.

"Vongola," Byakuran's voice had lost its singsong quality, but he quickly checked himself. "That was impressive. Set the surroundings into turmoil by firing at the ringleader, charge, distract, overpower. Well done. But I don't have just three guards."

"No," Tsuna found himself talking, "But call anymore and we won't hold back. You're at our mercy."

Perfectly on cue, Ryohei dropped the limp form of the gunman from the headlock. Tsuna was truly astounded at their aptness. He wondered where he was when plans were being discussed.

Anger shot across Byakuran's face, needing correction from him a second time. "How silly of you to think this is the end."

It went black. The lights were out. Tsuna cursed the basement before panicking. This is where it could end for _them._ Byakuran had the upper hand again.

Seconds ticked. Tsuna was more alert than he had been all day as he waited for a death blow. A gunshot. A scream. Some indication of utter failure.

There was none.

He counted to sixty. Nothing.

He counted to one hundred and twenty. Not a whistle.

It was no surprise that two hundred and eighty was met with no sound above heavy breathing.

This wasn't right. Byakuran must be as blind as he, so one reverberation would give away his location. Yes, that was it. He must stay completely still and silent.

Ryohei turned the lights on.

Byakuran wasn't there. His gunmen weren't there. Hibari wasn't even there. Another memo Tsuna failed to notice: darkness signals the end. The end of now.

He looked at his friends. Gokudera was sitting up, Heaven knows how, clutching his leaking shoulder; Yamamoto was moving to crouch beside him, an arm rewrapping around his injured ribs; Ryohei remained poised by the light switch, looking as baffled as Tsuna felt. Was this really it? Was the day over? He looked at the wall clock and noticed it was about sunset, maybe a little after. So that was it. Byakuran wanted to overthrow the city in a day, and if he couldn't, then he'd give up and try again another time. Insanity.

Conquering his fear of moving, Tsuna rushed to Gokudera. After declaring weakly he was fine several times ("It's only my shoulder, Tenth."), Ryohei joined the group on the ground. He was shot. The day was literally horrible. All four felt as if they'd gone to hell and back. Fatigue wore on his face, but he pushed it back with a victorious grin. "That was a hell of a day, to the extreme."

"You say that like it's over," Reborn strode in with a medical team on his heels.


End file.
